


Cold is the Fury of a Woman

by Betwixted



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 12:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betwixted/pseuds/Betwixted
Summary: Between Ayanokoji Seika tossing Haruhi's stuff out the window and Suoh Tamaki running off to the rescue, a peculiar schoolmate pulls up the last dregs of strength and backbone her upbringing has instilled in her and makes herself heard. It hurts, she's weak, and she never wanted to be anything but invisible, but for this, all the pain in the world could not stop her.





	Cold is the Fury of a Woman

 

Honoka preferred daydreaming, but she was in no way unobservant.

Out the window to her left, something caught her eye, and her lips pursed into a tight frown. Her gaze drifted to her phone, and she tapped a finger on the screen, furious.

 _No, this simply would not do_.

The girl turned woman fortified herself and her anger made her all that colder, stronger. She scrubbed at her face with her hands, and the bed of her nails itched. Honoka blinked away angry tears and slammed her palms to her desk, throwing herself to a stand.

Silence fell over the classroom.

All eyes turned to stare.

She stared right back.

Slowly, Honoka raised a sharp, immaculate eyebrow. A slow, careful smirk turned the corners of her mouth, and her classmates turned away. She nodded, satisfied, and flipped a few stray strands of hair over her shoulder.

Her phone dinged on the table, and she snatched it up.

“Nii-sama?” Honoka said into the device as she stalked out the class door.

_“Chichi-ue is at the dojo. Do not be late.”_

“Hai.” The short call ended, and she looked at her screen. She had maybe twenty minutes before her driver started getting antsy.

That was _more_ than enough.

Honoka stormed through the fanciful halls of her school building but grew winded on the stairs. She was angry, so very angry, but her lungs _burned_. The higher she forced herself to climb, the tighter the ball in her chest became.

Pressing her hand against her sternum, she inhaled jerkily through her mouth and knew it was a bad idea. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was coughing. Bent head over knees, she wretched and twisted as her lungs tried to expunge themselves.

Barely retrieving her handkerchief in time, she stooped with it covering mouth and nose for a minute or two, striving to catch her breath.

Her coughing fit lasted the rest of the way up the stairs. She lost some of the outrage that fueled her journey, but it just sharpened the determination already there. Dabbing at her mouth, she folded her handkerchief and tucked it into her pocket.

Eyes closed, Honoka inhaled slowly, meditatively, and opened her eyes on the exhale.

She would more than likely regret this later. She would probably curse the very anger that coursed through her veins. Her impulsiveness had often gotten her into trouble when she was younger.

But if she did not say a word, if she let this go on beneath her nose, would she not regret that even more?

Throwing out her arms, she tossed open the large, ornate, double doors of the third music room.

There were just over an hour before club hours. Only members would be present for her outburst, she was thankful for that much.

Honoka’s gaze swept across the room, and she ignored the Suoh heir outright.

She brushed him aside with a literal wave of her hand and sidestepped his notorious hands, twirling around the coffee table the princely host had almost pushed her into.

No, she didn’t want the “Prince” today. She only had eyes for the Shadow King.

Ootori Kyouya sat at his usual table in the back of the room, and he had not bothered to look up from his laptop at her entry. He was much too used to the theatrics of the host club if this was his reaction.

It did not bother her in the least.

She was grounded enough in her anger, still, that this slight did not phase her. Instead, she stood opposite him. She did nothing but stare.

It only took him forty seconds to cave.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and looked at her through their reflexive lenses. “May I help you, Ms. …?”

So _that_ ’s how he wanted to play?

She found herself amused by it despite her rage. He wanted to _fish_? Did he think her a fool?

He knew her name no doubt. Honoka wasn’t so arrogant as to believe herself skilled enough to avoid a background check by _the_ Ootori.

“No, no, you may not,” Honoka answered, her tone cold as ice. A glare to match met his gaze, and she whipped out her phone with masterful grace. Then, to emphasize her point, she planted her hands on the table and leaned over until her face was inches from his. “I _really_ have no problems with you or the host club, or the loud shenanigans you get up to. Really, I _don’t_. However, I have a line, and you are _this_ ,” she held her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart, “close to crossing it.”

“Pranks,” she tilted her head back to look at the ginger-haired twins, “are one thing. If they make everyone laugh, they are _fun_.” The sneer on her face did not fade, but her eyes thawed a little. “They can be taken too far, but moderation in everything.”

“A man with great strength must temper it with patience, lest his anger be used against him.” It was spoken evenly, haunted, instructional. Her gaze flitted to the Morinozuka and Haninozuka heirs, and winter’s frost accompanied her words. “Letting one be injured due to your own negligence?”

She spat, “ _Disgrace._ ”

They were taken aback by the ferocity in her gaze and tone, but she was not here to hunt wolf or bunny.

No, she was peeling onions and skinning royalty’s noses.

“And you.” She turned, pointing a finger straight at the blond Suoh. “You gather girls at your side, flirt and fill them with fantasies. You put stars in their eyes, and the idea of love in their hearts.”

“You make yourselves _idols_ to the girls and the _envy_ of the boys. Then you have the gall,” the urge to cough built in her chest but she swallowed it down, anger spurring her on, “You have the _gall_ to pull a bystander into your mess without thinking?”

“Have you not considered what your fans would do? This is the first time you’ve split your attention between your ‘ _clients_ ’ and a fresh host. Did you not think some would be jealous?” It was, however, her next words that struck arrows through the prince’s fragile ego. “Your ignorance disgusts and _offends_ me.”

Honoka turned back to the Ootori and found a picture on her phone. She flicked it with a finger and sent it spinning across the table.

“I do believe,” she articulated with care, as if speaking to a child, “Ouran Academy has a zero-tolerance policy, correct? Correct this behavior, today, or I will do something about it.”

The young woman snatched up her phone and slid it back into her pocket.

“Bullying?” Ootori raised an eyebrow. “Where comes this allegation, Matsuri-san?”

She smiled.

Oh, it was beautiful. Beautiful but cold.

“I see,” she said, eyebrows pinched in the center. “You know exactly what I mean, Ootori- _kun_. You will see it right, or by the grace of all that is unholy, I will have this little party disposed of.”

The stress on her honorific was not lost on him, she was sure. She could tell from the widening then narrowing of his eyes. She was a senior, and she was not above pulling rank for something like this.

She turned on the snap of her heel and nodded curtly to the Morinozuka and Haninozuka heirs. Their families were close associates, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she had a marriage contract with one of their branch members waiting for her after graduation.

At the door, Honoka turned to look at them over her shoulder and cleared her sore throat. She had not spoken quite this much in, probably, her whole life. It was certainly more than she had said in the past year put together.

“Nothing against you gentlemen personally, but I disagree with several of your practices. You say you entertain _ladies_ ,” she chuckled sardonically at the word, “but I have yet to see anything but delusional _girls_ attending your galas. Grow up, boys. Learn to take responsibility for your actions. Goodbye.”

With that, she bolted.

Slamming the door behind her, she sank against one of the decorative pillars outside. There, she pressed her hand to her chest and whimpered as the pain overtook reason. Shaking, she could only wait out the agony.

Rapid footsteps passed her hiding spot, and she peered around the edge to see Suoh fleeing the club room like the devil were on his heels.

She smiled.

It warped seconds later.

She stood by what she had said, but she was in class 3- _B_ for a reason. Her family, though wealthy in their own right, did not stand a chance against those she had just insulted.

Honoka cringed. Good god, what would her mother say?

Worse yet, what would her father _do_?


End file.
